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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28314015">Sicarius</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/TelanadasFenharel/pseuds/TelanadasFenharel'>TelanadasFenharel</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Dragon Age: Inquisition</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Drama, Eventual Fluff, I Don't Even Know, M/M, Post-Dragon Age: Inquisition - Trespasser DLC</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-12-26</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-12-26</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-10 16:01:38</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>3,724</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28314015</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/TelanadasFenharel/pseuds/TelanadasFenharel</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>The Inquisitor has arrived in Minrathous to see Dorian. Dorian needs him to leave. Right now.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Male Lavellan/Dorian Pavus</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>31</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Sicarius</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>By the time the door opened, Dorian had already heard the footsteps approaching a while ago. He hadn't had raised the silencing wards, the ones he used when working on fussy and finicky things that required concentration. Complex formulae would not be worked through when noise distracted him, now would they? Only the door, usually, would allow knocking to be heard inside Dorian's study.</p><p>The wards weren't raised now and so he had heard the approach of his retainer. There had been polite knocking, of course, and Dorian had bid whoever had approached to enter for he could scarcely do much else without drawing attention to himself.</p><p>“My lord Pavus,” the servant, it sounded like Argento but could have been his brother, announced, “The Inquisitor has--”</p><p>Of all the times-- He had forgotten all about that. The hair on his neck prickled.</p><p>“Send him away,” Dorian ordered starkly and did not turn away from the window. He should have moved his chair somewhere else, the sun warmed his black clothes and they sat so form-fitting, the heat simply leaked into him without delay. Not yet unbearable, merely uncomfortable. He should have moved.</p><p>Whatever the servant had been about to say sputtered to a grinding halt. “I-- my lord?”</p><p>Too late. The door was pushed open further and the last person Dorian wanted to see strode into the room as if he owned the place. “Dorian,” Nahta Lavellan greeted him, exuberant, cheerful, oblivious.</p><p>Dorian closed his eyes, inhaled slowly. Exhaled. This did nothing. Nor did a repeat performance right after. Nothing for it but to take the plunge. “Inquisitor.” About as curt as one could reasonably be without slipping into outright hostility.</p><p>No one talked. Not Dorian who looked out the window, brow creased, eyes unfocused. Certainly not Nahta who had not even moved from his initial rush into the room.</p><p>There was the skittering brush of someone fast fleeing down the hall, but it was merely the servant who had decided to not linger in what could potentially widen into a generous splash zone. Splashes of what not yet decided.</p><p>“It's <em>warm</em> in here,” Nahta said and pulled at his tunic's collar as if to chase a breeze through his garments. Dorian could hear it, but not see. Instead he stared out the window and resisted the urge to shield his eyes. He would not show weakness by making sudden movements.</p><p>Under different circumstances Dorian would have stirred the air around, if not outright cooled it, an easy feat. He had found Ferelden's climate cold and had not cared for it, but that hardly meant that he enjoyed <em> chewing </em> his air.</p><p>“Is that so strange?” he asked instead. “You do know where we are.”</p><p>“Oh no, of course not. What with the geography and all. You alright there? Looking a little... fried. Just gonna sit there? Is direct sunlight advisable or are the rules different for mages?”</p><p>“Am I not allowed to sit in the midday sun whenever I please? In my own house?” Dorian asked and sniffed disdainfully. “And just because I am a mage does not mean I can simply do what I wish. There are rules.”</p><p>Nahta laughed and Dorian wished to turn.</p><p>“Something wrong?” Nahta asked lightly when Dorian did not react.</p><p>“Not as such, no,” Dorian told him. If only he could think of something.</p><p>Nahta hummed, “You could at least turn around and look at me.” But it was not said in anger. Only wry amusement and perhaps a bit of curious puzzlement.</p><p>“Is that an order, <em>Worship</em>?” Was that too much? He hadn't used that title in... years. At least.</p><p>“If you want it to be.” Nahta gave a low thrilling noise when Dorian hesitated, “Then it <em>is</em> an order. Or do you need me to do it for you?”</p><p>“Maker no, stay there.”</p><p>He turned and took his time to let his gaze sweep about. The splotches and splashes of gold and ornaments, tapestries and paintings. Snakes and peacocks everywhere. But he did turn quickly away from the wardrobe in the corner.</p><p>The wardrobe had been his father's. Many things had been.</p><p>A bulky mess of a thing. Carvings on every free space, with absolutely no regard for theme nor style nor consideration for the eye. An eyesore, if one wished to be so crude.</p><p>Even his father couldn't have been all too fond of it, for it had been placed in the darkest part of the office. A gift that needed to be acknowledged and could not simply been confined to some storage room to hopefully forget about it.</p><p>So of course Nahta walked right towards it. Of course. That was, after all, why those with things to hide had feared him so.</p><p>When Nahta stood next to it, turned towards it but not touching the wall, Dorian did not move. “Would you stop wandering about aimlessly? You are scuffing the carpets.”</p><p>Nahta did stop, standing at the side of the wardrobe. Not leaning against it. But it still held his attention. The door was slightly ajar.</p><p>Hovering, never quite touching, he followed along the length of the wall, higher by increments. Dorian swallowed dryly, “Leave... <em> Please </em>.”</p><p>And that was all the confirmation Nahta had truly needed.</p><p>Natha brought his arm, his left arm, back, twisted his entire body along its axis. And then he reversed his course with a force that could spit a skull if need arose.</p><p>They had walked and fought side by side for years. One learned things about another in that time. Dorian, for one, had learned that Nahta had wielded clubs and hammers swords and axes with much the same casual strength that belied his lithe elven frame.</p><p>And his new arm was just another weapon to wield. The wardrobe, however much hulking and reinforced, stood no chance. There was no groaning of wood, no fanfare. The wall simply exploded inwards as Nahta brought his entire arm through, as if it was paper.</p><p>He grabbed onto something and <em> pulled. </em></p><p>Several things happened at once or so closely together that no one present could differentiate. A <em> twang </em> sounded, was drowned in the noise of breaking furniture and something zipped passed Dorian's face when before it would have struck true. It buried itself in the wall, forgotten and useless.</p><p>A scream, muffled, as through the splintered mess, a man was ripped out, weapon still clutched but in the surprise of it all, useless. A crossbow could not easily be reloaded when an angry elf was busy dragging you by your face, after all.</p><p>It stood to reason if there was even any ammunition left, the exact nature of which Dorian could only guess at. He had felt the lyrium, the enchantment at the tip and it stood to reason that it held some manner of shield-breaking enchantment. The only upside to this was the fact that such things were terribly hard to come by.</p><p>Depending on who had ordered this attack on him, perhaps even a good portion of someone's wealth had suffered for it. Not that Dorian was all that torn up about this.</p><p>“You piece of shit,” Nahta said, sounded very much indignant, even as he turned with the intruder, who scrabbled for the arm that had gripped him like a vice, still in his grip. He threw him over his shoulder in a single fluid, graceful move. Nahta fought without grace. If battle continued long enough, he fought without mind.</p><p>It would not go this far today.</p><p>Dorian, who no longer found himself in danger of losing his life or his elf, did the rest. Barely a thought required and what little there was mostly made certain that Nahta would not be caught in Dorian's ensuing fray.</p><p>His first instinct was to lob fire and quite a lot of it. But they were inside and smoke was so terribly hard to clean.</p><p>Ice sufficed. Lightning followed, for good measure. And then it was over. That part at least.</p><p>Nahta turned when it was certain that the smeared remains would never again be danger to anyone and Dorian saw that the easy playfulness had been shaken to its core. The play was over, after all, and there was no need to keep up the charade.</p><p>“Did he hurt you?” Nahta asked even as he whirled towards Dorian, frantic and bordering at the edge of something more dire, “Are you alright?”</p><p>In answer, Dorian grasped for him, hands cupping Natha's face, and kissed him. “Amatus,” Dorian said finally, “I am perfectly fine now.”</p><p>And he was. He truly was.</p><hr/><p>It did not quite end there. A corpse in a magister's house was, granted, not all that novel. The Game, no matter where one played it, demanded that one made at least the attempt at being scandalized, however empty that gesture was.</p><p>And so the corpse, what remained of it, was dragged off quietly, to where it would not bother. Dorian wished it good riddance. An investigation would be launched and already he reviewed a list of potential perpetrators.</p><p>Such was life in Tevinter. Really, where most of his distress came from was the fact that Dorian had been careless, had allowed some mangy assassin to wander into his house, past the wards and the meticulously crafted measures that kept strays like this out. He had been distracted and nearly paid the price. Stupid. What a stupid, shameful way to go.</p><p>But no matter. Other things needed his attention. The elf And, of course, the servant who had fled. There was <em> that </em> matter to care of still. He could hardly go and shoo that one off without any explanation, now could he?</p><p>Argento, for it had been him and not his brother who had witnessed the display, bowed deeply, far deeper than would have been necessary. Dorian suspected he would have tried to outdo even that attempt if the floor had not been in the way. “My lord--”</p><p>“Do stop scraping, please,” Dorian said. “No one was hurt, everything is alright.” And it was, all things considered. As alright as an attempt on his life could ever be. One learned to live with it. What was the alternative, after all.</p><p>But he had not been entirely left unshaken, to be fair.</p><p>“No, no it is not,” Argento told him. “There was an assassin in the wardrobe, threatening your life and dirtying the linen and I was mere feet away and knew of nothing.”</p><p>“Argento, as you see, I still live,” Dorian informed him.</p><p>The scraping did not stop at once. But Argento did not kneel on the floor any longer. “I will not object to any disciplinary measures, my lord.”</p><p>“None of that. There is precious little you could have done. Beside leading the Inquisitor here.”</p><p>Stubbornly refusing to be let off the hook, Argento rallied another attempt at getting blamed. “That was merely an accident.”</p><p>Dorian waved him off. “All the better, the luckiest of accidents.” He turned his head to look at the hallway that led to Dorian's bedroom. “But, granted, we should go over the security measures, I will give you that. When was the last time we had a thorough check?”</p><p>Finally Argento nodded, hopefully, “In the spring. I will have the wards checked and a list prepared by tomorrow at the latest.”</p><p>“Good chap, I look forward to your report. And then we shall see if we can't refine the ones we have.” Not to mention add new ones.</p><p>“Would you have some wine brought to my quarters? I do believe I need it.”</p><p>“At once, lord Pavus.”</p><p>And then Dorian stood alone in the split hallway, with one side leading to his bedroom and the other anywhere else.</p><p>It was not a hard choice to make.</p><hr/><p>“There you are,” Nahta said when Dorian closed the door but did not yet lock it. “Everything sorted out?”</p><p>The splinters had been brushed out of his hair and where his tunic had gone was anyone's guess. Not that Dorian minded finding him so. Far from it.</p><p>“Is it ever?”</p><p>“Course not,” Nahta said and laughed a sharp, barking thing, “Let me dream.”</p><p>“Later,” Dorian said, made to step closer and was overwhelmed right away by his elf who grabbed for him and pulled him close.</p><p>Dorian found himself kissed this time, with far more urgency than he himself had shown right after that failed assassination. He would not be shown up like that, needed to make up for that later. To show his gratitude appropriately, as was proper.</p><p>“Do you know who could have send him?” Nahta asked when they parted just enough to allow for words.</p><p>Threading fingers through dark hair, mindful to not have his rings snag at Nahta's hair, Dorian leaned closer to press their foreheads together. “I have a suspicion. I will have it investigated. What exactly will come of it remains to be seen,” Dorian said. At Nahta's unfocused scowl he smiled mildly, amused and cupped his elf's face. “I <em> will </em> have this sorted out, you know me. I do not take these things lying down.”</p><p>Nahta snorted but appeared appeased. “See that you do,” he finally said, when his head was tucked against Dorian's shoulder and neck. “Otherwise I will. And my solution won't easily be cleaned out of carpet. Or the ceiling. I brought one of my mauls, you know.”</p><p>"I would have sincerely worried about you if you hadn't," Dorian said.</p><p>The door opened and Dorian did not tense, this time he had awaited this . The quiet clinking of metal and glass on the table, something being placed down and then the door clicked shut.</p><p>“There,” Dorian said when the wards rose up around him with but a thought. “We are alone now.”</p><p><em> Finally </em>.</p><p>The sound Nahta made sounded something like <em> fmbh, </em> maybe <em> mrbh, </em> when Dorian kissed him, for that was just about all he could do at such sudden, drastic affection. It wasn't a displeased <em> fmbh </em> or <em> mrbh, </em>quite the contrary.</p><p>Neither wanted to <em> stop </em> just like that, really. But still, Nahta pulled Dorian back against himself when he made to raise his head and apologize because frankly there were more important things to.</p><p>“Nahta,” Dorian began. He did not enjoy the fact that, after months apart and finally together, such grave matters needed to be discussed. But there was no way around the subject. Not forever.</p><p>The tone in his voice was enough to have Nahta roll his eyes, “Oh no, are you going to diminish your character again? Wait up a moment; I need wine for this,” Nahta cut him off. <em> Rude </em>. The only redeeming fact about that was the way Nahta strode towards the table.</p><p>Wine was poured, not reserved either, Dorian could hear him savage the snack tray while the bottle gurgled away, and when he returned to the bed, he had a glass for Dorian too.</p><p>“Now,” he finally said, drew one of his legs closer to lean against his knee and gulped. Sipping was reserved for playing the genteel Inquisitor, as was not hoovering down the cheese platter. “You were saying?” Nahta asked after chugging half his glass in one swig.</p><p>What a savage Dorian had invited into his home. But it was hard to be indignant. Harder than it would have been years ago. Not quite to the extend of The Iron Bull, that was a standard one needed to work for to reach, but he was no the napkin-dabbing, elbows-off-the-table gentleman.</p><p>Dorian leaned closer, until there was barely space between them. "Nahta, amatus, I already owe you--"</p><p>„You owe me nothing,“ Nahta said ever patient when Dorian made to admonish himself again and barely did he sound chagrined. Instead he ipped playfully at Dorian's chin. „But do feel free to do that again, you will hear no complaints from me.“</p><p>„I owe you quite a lot, amatus,“ Dorian iterated but dutifully lowered his head again. On that spot behind Nahta's jaw, a little to the right. The pleased, pleasant half-purr meant he had found it and for good measure he nipped at the soft skin.</p><p>Fingers combed through his hair in retaliation, gently grasped it for purchase. Nails pleasantly scratched down his scalp.</p><p>“Don't tell me you wouldn't have done the same,” Nahta said.</p><p>Dorian toyed with a strand of hair, managing very nearly to look unbothered and casual, “You don't have a wardrobe this dreadful for someone to hide in.”</p><p>“Neither do you now,” Nahta reminded him, smirking slyly. Instead of using his left hand, the one not playing with Dorian's hair, Nahta hummed and used his right hand to search for something else.</p><p>He found Dorian's back, just above the small of it, to hint fingers idly over the fabric, tracing lower to find some way to get at the skin underneath it. Dorian was all to glad to get out of this overheated entrapment.</p><p>“And the world is a brighter place for it, believe me,” Dorian said and tugged at the elaborately bound string-work that held his robes together. “Atrocious thing.”</p><p>“How unkind of you,” Natha commented idly and set his glass down so he could flop down onto embroidered pillows to roll his head against them like a spoiled cat. Dorian watched him stretch. “It wasn't so bad.”</p><p>“It absolutely was,” Dorian scoffed. He loved Nahta, truly and wholly. But there was a reason someone had selected his clothes for him during their earliest days of the Inquisition.</p><p>“Amatus, you were lucky enough to not have it standing in your study. The only good thing to come out of this mess is the fact that now, no one can blame me for throwing it out.” Why were they even still sitting? The bed looked so inviting.</p><p>Not sitting seemed that much more comfortable, that much more appealing. Nahta did not object in the least when Dorian climbed on top of him, with arms braced to either side of his neck as if to cage him there.</p><p>“The <em>only</em> good thing?” Nahta asked and reached out again to play with the curled end of Dorian's mustache, barely ruffled and perfectly waxed.</p><p>“<em>Mmh</em>...” Dorian muttered, because if Nahta could play coy, so could he.</p><p>Nahta, ever the hypocrite, reared up, to nip at him and <em> pinch </em> in places both appreciated and ticklish and that was simply entirely unfair.</p><p>With one hand defending himself from such impolite distraction, Dorian rolled his eyes. “Ah, fine. <em> Fine </em>. Having you rescue me was also very nice.”</p><p>“Why, thank you, glad you noticed.” Nahta said. “Not what I expected to start my stay here, but you won't hear me complain.”</p><p>“I'm glad at least <em>you</em> were having fun.”</p><p>Wrinkling his face with a scrunchy pout, Nahta hummed, “Not while it was happening.” And relaxed again, “But looking back at it, you have to admit we worked together flawlessly.”</p><p>Dorian kissed him again, nibbling at his jaw until Nahta made soft, contented noises. “I am in awe," Dorian said and smirked.</p><p>To be vulnerable... Well, he had learned how to over the years. But the nagging worry would never allow itself to be entirely silenced. How much of the velvety softness --this most vulnerable part of it-- could one expose before getting it savaged? Getting that foolish heart ripped to shreds beyond recovery? Such were the concerns that occupied him.</p><p>But Nahta was ever gentle with it, that fool heart of his, and Dorian chided himself at having doubted, forgotten, for a moment. But old habits died so hard...</p><p>The tan skin of his right side turned away, like the moon vanishing behind the horizon. In its place, the left side, sand-colored vallaslin adorning it, faced him.</p><p><em> Elgar'nan </em>, Nahta had told him once, years ago, smiling shrewdly. Now he did not smile nor grin nor like to talk much of it. But sometimes he still touched the painted side of his face in something that was almost reverence when he thought no one was watching.</p><p>“You know I didn't believe a single word of what you said?” Nahta asked him.</p><p>Dorian knew it now. And he had to sincerely question the survival instinct of his amatus. Because if this had been any other scenario... It might have been Nahta rendered into indistinguishable chunks in Dorian's hallway... Had Dorian not tried to shoo him out and instead truly resented him, meant him harm...</p><p>It was not a nice thought, about as far from it as could be.</p><p>“How could you be so sure? What of one day you come here and I am this atrocious to you and there is no assassin sitting in my closet?” <em>Would you run</em>, was not asked. But the implication hung heavy around his neck. A yoke of worry and despair. !What would you do if I attacked you?”</p><p>Without a moment of hesitation, Nahta answered, “Then you were involved in some perfidious act of magic-- Trying to stop it-- got your mind flash-fried, and I would find a way to free you from it. Always. It's what I do.”</p><p>“Flash-fried--” Dorian shook his head, “Fine then. What if there was also no magic involved-- Don't roll your eyes at me, amatus. Take this with a modicum of seriousness. This affects you too.”</p><p>“When is anything here not involved in magic? Even tangentially?” Nahta asked.</p><p>Since nothing would deter Nahta from this particular notion, Dorian changed his angle.</p><p>“I have the capacity for it. For cruelty,” Dorian reminded him, someone had to. It brought him no joy but someone had to.</p><p>Nahta nodded, not sagely but also not distracted. Then he shrugged as well as one could when trying to fumble and roam with both hands.. “Maybe. Who doesn't? But you do not have the will. At least not when it comes to me.”</p><p>“You don't know that,” Dorian said, even as every fibre of him wished to agree. This was the man he loved and in a perfect world this would have meant that nothing could overcome them. It was not a perfect world.</p><p>“Sure I do,” Nahta said. Because they could try all the same for a world a little better and someone needed to take the plunge.</p><p>And perhaps, if Dorian's trust in himself faltered from time to time, however briefly, it was enough to trust in another.</p>
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